


Unbreakable Hearts

by Magi_Silverwolf



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BAMF Daphne Greengrass, Because Beatrice is Life, Gen, Implied/Referenced Canon Typical Prejudice, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kid Fic, Not Epilogue Compliant, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, Reference to Shakespeare, Referenced Past Violence, References to All Books, Squib Scorpius Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 02:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15329988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magi_Silverwolf/pseuds/Magi_Silverwolf
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy was his mother's son, and Daphne would never let him forget that.





	Unbreakable Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the original canon nor am I making any profit from writing this piece. All works are accredited to their original authors, performers, and producers while this piece is mine. No copyright infringement is intended. I acknowledge that all views and opinions expressed herein are merely my interpretations of the characters and situations found within the original canon and may not reflect the views and opinions of the original author(s), producer(s), and/or other people.  
> Warnings: This story may contain material that is not suitable for all audiences and may offend some readers.  
> Author’s Note(s): I apologize to my readers ahead of time. Special restrictions from the competition requires this piece to be written in first person perspective.  
> Dedication: To Aya Diefair, as punishment for messing up my Submission Compendium and as pre-emptive reward for my Assassin!Harry request.

-= LP =-  
Unbreakable Hearts  
-= LP =-  
“There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.”   
– Graham Greene  
-= LP =-

 

My favorite memory of my mother is crawling in bed with her for naps. In the warmth of her bedroom, we would cuddle together, and she would tell me stories until we both fell asleep. I still remember the floral scent of her perfume as it covered the sour smell of sick that had clung to her skin. My mother had ordered it to be created just for her, and after Mama had died, my father had the perfumer destroy the recipe. He had sealed her rooms afterwards as well, locking away the majority of her belongings along with any discussion of the woman we both had loved and lost.

 

It is times like _this_ when I want nothing more than to crawl into bed with her again, to let her scent wash away the fear and worry that seem only to grow, as my eleventh birthday approached without an invitation to Hogwarts. I know that Grandfather and Grandmama have been arguing about it. They probably think that I don’t know, but they forget that I am still my mother’s son, and my father’s, as well. I knew how to read a room as well as a book.

 

I looked at myself in the full-length mirror, trying to see myself as Grandfather and Grandmama must. I looked too pale in my white pajamas. My hair was the same color as my father’s, a white-blond instead of my mother’s dark gold. It fell loose to below my cheekbones and did nothing to soften the pointy features which Grandmama always insisted were a sign that the Black blood was strong in me. My mother had smiled whenever the claim was made in front of her and tell me to beware of cutting someone with my cheekbones. It is this memory more than the one of her perfume which made me raise my chin at my reflection.

 

"My name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy," I told the mirror, trying to fill the words with the strength that my mother showed until the very end of her life, no matter how much pain she had to been feeling. I could pretend that I was as confident as I needed to be, just by her memory alone. The shadow in my gray eyes could be ignored, if only because I refuse to give the worry voice. "I am the last scion of a great House, and I am the legacy of my parents' love. The letter's just late. That's all. It's just _late_.”

 

I am not afraid. I am not anxious, and the thought of summer’s fast approach did not fill my gut with dread.

 

“I am Scorpius the Dreadless,” I declared, completely ignoring how the lie tasted on my tongue. I drew my shoulders back more to compensate for it. “I fear _nothing._ Like a titan, I am above such things. I am named for the Great Scorpion that slew Orion the Hunter when no other creature could. I will do the impossible and nothing will stop me!”

 

“Your mother used to do that mirror thing, too,” Aunt Daphne said, making me jump at the sudden intrusion into my rooms. I could feel my face flushing as the horrible realization that I had also squeaked like a house elf when doing so. Aunt Daphne looked unimpressed, which wasn’t any different than how she usually looked. I always wondered if she knew how intimidating that expression was, but I have never been brave enough to actually ask her. “She did the mouse thing as well. Do you also sneak into the kitchens in the middle of the night for extra pudding?”

 

“Don’t tell Father,” I begged, not bothering to deny the accusation. After all, I did know how to read a room, and Aunt Daphne had never been the aunt that let me get away with a blatant lie. Aunt Luna had a similar way of demanding the truth, but hers was to not point out the lie and just look very sad. I can feel my eyes prickling with tears at even the thought of putting that expression on Aunt Luna’s face. It really was like kicking one of Grandfather’s peafowl, unnecessarily cruel and likely to bring down destruction because Aunt Daphne only got _mean_ when someone made Aunt Luna or Aunt Tracey upset and I really didn’t think that I would be an exception to that. “Please don’t. I know that I’m not supposed to be down there alone, but Grandfather and Grandmama always refuse and Father always looks like I just stabbed him or something when I ask—”

 

“That’s because Tory never stopped, buggy,” Aunt Daphne interrupted. She crossed to the ornate chair between my bed and the mirror, her long legs eating up the distance from the door like it was nothing. I can’t help but wonder what it must be like to be a freaking giant instead of perpetually short. She sat on the ugly chair as if she was a witch-queen from one of Mama’s stories. Her ice-blue eyes were fixed on my face, making me want to squirm like a little kid instead of my actual age. “Even when she couldn’t go herself any longer, she still wanted that extra scoop of pudding. Your father never could deny her anything, even when they both knew the risks. He may be bollocks at showing it, but your father worshipped the very air that your mother breathed.”

 

“I miss her,” I whispered. Aunt Daphne became blurry as tears filled my eyes, threatening to complete my descent into being a baby. “I miss her so much. She would know how to fix me; I just know it. Mama could fix anything.”

 

“Oh, _buggy_ ,” she said, matching my volume. She shifted to uncross her legs as she opened her arms in a clear demand for a hug. I gladly climbed into her lap to accept the comfort, tucking my face against her neck. It served to hide my tears as well as letting me smell the perfume she wore, distinctly unique but similar enough to Mama’s that I could pretend, just a bit, that it was _her_ holding me instead. “There’s nothing about you that needs fixing, little bug.”

 

“I don’t have magic,” I admitted, choking on the confession as much as tears. It was the first time I had admitted the words aloud. Even now, I worried that actually saying it was what made it true, though that was a very baby thing to think. Aunt Daphne’s arms tightened around me.

 

“Yes, baby,” she agreed, “that’s probably true. There’s still nothing about you that needs fixing.”

 

“Will Grandfather—” I shuddered as the thought crossed my mind again. I had read about what side of the Great Blood War my father’s family had been on; I had read about their beliefs and practices. I had never asked questions about any of the things I had read, no matter how surreal or terrible, but with the confirmation of my fear about being a squib, I had to know, didn’t I? “Will Grandfather kill me?”

 

“I’ll eat his heart in the middle of Diagon Alley if he so much as _tries_ ,” Aunt Daphne vowed. I couldn’t stop the wet giggle at that, despite the seriousness.

 

“That’s so gross.”

 

“I’d still do it,” she confirmed, “and I will cackle while doing it.”

 

“Like a mad woman?”

 

“The very maddest.”

 

“You’re so weird,” I declared, snuggling closer. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too, buggy,” she returned. She ran her fingers through my hair like I was a kneazle or Aunt Tracey. Her voice was still soft when she continued. “I would do that, but I think your father would probably beat me to it, the poncy git.”

 

“Name-calling is mean,” I parroted automatically. Aunt Daphne chuckled as she scratched my scalp in a way that made me wish I could purr like a kneazle or Aunt Tracey could. “Father’s not a git.”

 

“Oh, the _stories_ I could share,” Aunt Daphne muttered before kissing my forehead. “Your father really would, buggy. To protect you, he would do anything, even kill his own father.”

 

“But why?” The question slipped out before I could think about it. I had read about his allegiance, too. Aunt Daphne would never lie to me, but what she was saying didn’t make _sense_. Father had been a Death Eater, just like Grandfather. Why would he be any different?

 

“Several very grown up reasons, but most importantly: protecting you would be what Tory would have wanted.”

 

The words knocked the wind out of me, and suddenly I could not stop crying. Aunt Daphne simply held me through the _fit_ , never once shushing me. Instead she spent the time stroking my back and hair. It hit me again how much she smelled like Mama, how much they had in common, even for sisters. The thought made me cry harder. Eventually, though, my tears subsided, and my breathing calmed. I felt hollowed, like I had cried out all of my insides.

 

Carefully, Aunt Daphne helped me to my feet. Neither of us spoke, not even when she used a handkerchief to wipe the tears from my cheeks. Her face had that unimpressed expression still but her eyes had darkened with concern. I licked my lips before glancing over my shoulder at the mirror. She gave a single sharp nod before shooing me over to it.

 

“My name is Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” I told my reflection, tilting my (too pointy) chin in challenge. “I am the last scion of a great House and the legacy of my parents’ love. I fear _nothing_. Like a titan, I am above such things. I am named for the Great Scorpion that slew Orion the Hunter when no other creature could. I will do the impossible and nothing will stop me!”

 

“So, tell me, O Dreadless Bug,” Aunt Daphne asked, “how do you plan on pursuing the impossible?”

 

“Potions,” I declared, not needing to think about the answer when I had been researching magical careers that didn’t require magic to do for the last six months. I turned away from the mirror to face her, shocked a bit to find her smiling. “But I want to also learn about the related Muggle fields—chemistry, botany, and biology. I think I could really improve how we currently make potions. Maybe even find a treatment or cure for our bloodline curse, since magic alone has no solution. Do you… do you think that’s a good idea?”

 

“I think that nothing will stop you from doing whatever you set your mind to doing.” Her slight smile turned into a grin that showed way too many teeth to be anything except threatening. “I’m still willing to eat as many hearts as I need to in order to help.”

 

“Still gross, Aunt Daphne.”

 

“Still true, buggy.”

 

-= LP =-  
The End  
-= LP =-

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge/Competition Block:  
> House: Hufflepuff  
> Year: 6th  
> Category: Additional  
> Prompt: Discovering you/your child is a squib  
> Representation: Gross Ways to Declare Affection; Triad (Lunar Emeralds); Healer; Malfoy-Greengrass; Daphne Greengrass  
> Bonus Challenge(s): Second Verse (Three’s Company); Second Verse (Unwanted Advice); Second Verse (Tomorrow’s Shade); Second Verse (Nightingale); Second Verse (Mouth of Babes); Second Verse (Non-Traditional); Second Verse (Clio’s Conclusion); Second Verse (Ladylike - Cold); Second Verse (Not a Lamp)  
> Word Count: 1830


End file.
